


Feathers

by orphan_account



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Amnesia, Angels, Fallen Angels, Fictional Religion & Theology, M/M, Memory Alteration, Minor Violence, Undead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-21 01:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21291584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Wonpil meets a fallen angel.
Relationships: Kim Wonpil/Park Jaehyung | Jae
Comments: 16
Kudos: 48





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> back with another bizarre fantasy au because fantasy is my breakfast lunch and dinner

Wonpil isn’t supposed to be here.

He’s breaking at least ten rules of angel protocol right now, his bare feet trembling slightly as they take their first timid steps into the clearing, eyes focused ahead on the figure bound to the sakura tree that guards the peak. It’s quiet, perfectly serene, the delicate petals drifting through the orchard of trees and carrying with them the soft scent of spring to Wonpil’s flared nostrils. If he were to glance to the side, Wonpil could catch a glimpse of the crown of smaller mountains surrounding the peak, a picturesque view untouched by the mortals who are always mysteriously compelled to turn around before they can climb this high. 

He has heard stories before, sure, seen the paintings tucked away between the shelves of the angel library in a manner that always made Wonpil think that someone had intended for them to have some sort of mysterious allure, but never before has Wonpil seen a fallen angel in person like this. The man is nothing like the depictions of ravenous monsters in the texts, his blonde halo of hair sitting mockingly atop his head, a tiara for his little kingdom of sakura trees, forever bound as he is to this precarious boundary between the mortal realm and the void of the undead. 

Taking another step, Wonpil approaches, knowing he doesn’t have much time before Sungjin comes to look for him. His soft footfalls against the grass are nearly deafening in the perfect quiet, still-drying curls bouncing against his forehead as his white feathers betray the curiosity of his steps with their overeager rustling.

“Hello,” Wonpil calls softly and melodically, unable to bear the silence any longer, noticing now that he is nothing more than a few steps away that the chains weighing down the man’s wrists appear impossibly heavy, the ropes binding his black wings oppressively cruel. Wonpil's lips curl down slightly at the sight, and it is then that the man raises his head, intelligent eyes focusing on Wonpil with a scrutiny that Wonpil isn’t entirely comfortable with. 

He’s handsome, face all soft angles and pronounced features that only emphasize the restrained curiosity that creeps into his expression when he takes in Wonpil standing before him. There’s something so uniquely regal about him despite the way he is crumpled against the tree, the elegant curve of his neck and tilt of his chin betraying him as something more than the broken prisoner he had appeared at first. 

All slow, patient movements, Wonpil sinks to his knees, two or three feet in front of the man, their eyes still locked in an unspoken conversation. Like this, they’re on the same eye level as each other, although even here Wonpil can tell that the man would be quite a bit taller than him if they were both standing. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a visitor,” the man says in lieu of a greeting, his voice low and raspy as if he has just woken up. For a moment, Wonpil startles, wondering if maybe he had in fact been sleeping before Wonpil entered, remembering the way his head had lolled into his chest. His cheeks flush with embarrassment, and he bows his head slightly. “I’m sorry,” he near whispers, hands wringing themselves together. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Almost imperceptibly, the man’s eyebrow twitches up. A tinge of anxiety clutches at Wonpil’s fragile heart, worrying that the man will ask him why exactly he has entered this forbidden clearing and he won’t be able to answer. But the question doesn’t come, and the man’s expression returns to the impassive subtlety it held previously. “You aren’t disturbing me,” he says, and his voice is softer this time, less guarded.

It’s like he’s decided Wonpil isn’t a threat.

Wonpil gives him a small smile, one of the toothy grins that Sungjin always tells him is dangerous, the type of smile that makes people do things for him without him even asking. “I’m Wonpil,” he says, earning another curious head tilt. As if to show the man that the feeble thread of trust they have established between them is mutual, he scoots forward, holding one hand out for the man to awkwardly shake, his range of motion greatly restricted by the chains. 

Wonpil settles then, directly in front of the man, peering up at him with owlish almond eyes as the man hesitantly drops his hand. For a moment, it’s completely silent and Wonpil is afraid that the man won’t reply. 

“Jaehyung,” he admits finally, still watching Wonpil with confused eyes as if he can’t believe that the angel has come so close to him. Looking at the way he acts, Wonpil can tell that the only people Jaehyung has seen in the years since he’s been bound here have been the occasional inspector angels sent to check the condition of his restraints.

And yet, his speech is as fluid as if he uses it every day and he makes no movements to touch or hurt Wonpil. At this distance, he could probably physically overpower Wonpil even without magic, but he sits there tethered, a gentle giant. It’s curious, Wonpil thinks before his thoughts are interrupted by a sudden flash of heat from the bracelet on his wrist, a sure sign that Sungjin is out looking for him.

He stands up abruptly, panicking as he glances over his shoulder toward the open sky. Jaehyung seems startled, even more so when Wonpil spares him one last smile. “I’ll be back,” he says, although he isn’t even sure himself what is drawing him so strongly to the fallen angel, the forbidden criminal who has undoubtedly committed some atrocity to have ended up here. 

As he runs to the edge of the meadow, disappearing between the thin trunks of birch trees, he can feel Jaehyung’s gaze lingering on his retreating back, only fading once he has passed through the boundary of the clearing and taken off in a storm of white feathers into the cool mountain air. 

-

Sungjin, as always, is quite displeased by the fact that Wonpil had been out of his sight for more than thirty seconds, but he doesn’t find out about Wonpil’s brief encounter with Jaehyung, which is all that really matters. 

In Sungjin’s eyes, after all, Wonpil is nothing more than an innocent child still, more likely to wander off to distractedly look at some pretty flowers than he would ever be to break a rule of the angel code. Wonpil, as much as he loves Sungjin, hates this more than anything. He has proven time and time again his ability to protect himself and tackle problems on his own, but the elder doesn’t seem to trust him in the slightest. 

But Wonpil is nothing if not good, and so he will always obediently bow his head and follow the older man’s insistence on him staying closer for the next few days. In an angel’s lifetime, they have two uniquely personal bracelets, both of which can be given to another angel to receive feelings, transmitted as messages from the giver. Just as Wonpil wears one of Sungjin’s, Sungjin wears one of Wonpil’s. It’s impossible for Wonpil to get away with anything when Sungjin is being vigilant. 

So he is patient, not twitching when they fly past the mountain range on patrol and not sighing when Sungjin always jumps in front of him during clean up jobs against minor demons. He waits, always careful, finally slipping out of the angel dorm one night when he’s absolutely sure Sungjin is fast asleep and giving one of his secretive smiles to the angel who guards the gate to the mortal realm, a boy who is so in love with Wonpil that he wouldn’t dare report him. 

He brings a bag this time, a knapsack of books and candied sweets from the dining hall. Angels don’t need to eat, and neither do their fallen equivalents, but they still enjoy it, and Wonpil is determined to alleviate the misery he had seen in Jaehyung’s posture. Sungjin always tells him that he’s naive, too kind, too trusting, but Wonpil disagrees. He just has a good eye for people (and plus, it’s not like Wonpil hadn’t tried scouring every scroll in the library for Jaehyung’s name. He's not sure he entirely deserves to be called trusting). 

Wonpil just doesn’t believe that Jaehyung deserves the punishment he is receiving. 

This time, when he lands at the edge of the clearing, Wonpil doesn’t stumble, clutching his knapsack to his chest tightly as he wanders inside, peering through the darkness at the shadow that he can see even from the outskirts. It’s almost an eerie sight, and Wonpil feels suddenly glad that he had decided to bring along one of the old electric candles from the supply store. 

He fumbles for it inside the knapsack, managing to flick it on as he sits before Jaehyung, who regards him with just as much poorly subdued surprise as he had the very first time. Carefully, Wonpil sets it down on the grass between them, the tiny plastic flame offering up just enough light to frame the fallen angel’s face. 

“Good evening,” Wonpil chirps.

Jaehyung leans forward, his aloofness forgotten in his fascination with the tiny candle. Wonpil beams at the sight, feeling inexplicably happy at the fact that he had managed to please the mysterious man bathed in shadows. “How long until the inspector comes again?” He asks after a moment of peace, his voice still betraying his shyness as he opens the drawstring on his knapsack wider. Distracted, Jaehyung looks back up to meet his eyes, far less guarded than he had been during their first meeting. Wonpil thinks that maybe, Jaehyung is tired of being alone, that Wonpil coming back to see him had been a much bigger occasion for the prisoner than it had the angel. He smiles, waiting patiently for Jaehyung's response. “Two weeks. Why?”

“I brought you some things,” Wonpil says, voice tiny as he passes over the knapsack into Jaehyung’s hands, noticing the way the skin on his wrists has been rubbed red and raw by the bindings. He flinches, but Jaehyung doesn’t notice, too enthralled by sorting through the contents of the bag. 

The fallen angel blinks, and it’s the first time Wonpil has seen him show this much emotion, visibly excited by the books. “Wait, seriously? You’re bringing this stuff to me? Why?”

Wonpil shrugs, enjoying the way the other man stares with utter fascination at one of the lollies he had brought, twirling it between his fingers with the eagerness of a child who has never before seen candy. “Some people say I have too much faith in others. Personally, I just don’t think this is the right way to treat anyone, no matter what you might have done.” 

“So you did do research on me,” Jaehyung says, his tone not unkind as he continues to sort through the items. Wonpil shrugs, watching the fallen angel’s blonde hair reflecting the candlelight in the way that makes him look a bit ethereal. “I did try,” he admits, not being one for lies. “But you’re quite elusive. I couldn't find a single word about you." 

The man sighs, and for a moment his eyes betray his disappointment, almost as if he had wanted Wonpil to have information on him. It certainly wasn't the type of reaction that Wonpil had been expecting, and his brow furrows slightly as the hint of disappointment disappears just as quickly as it had come. “Then I’d have to agree with the people who say you have too much faith in others. But thank you, really, it's been… a long time since I’ve had anything to ebb this boredom.”

“Aren’t you going to eat any?” Wonpil asks, putting aside his desire to ask questions for tonight. Maybe later, when Jaehyung trusts him more, he can ask about the man’s past. The other man's tone hadn't been certain when he had reprimanded Wonpil for being trusting. It was almost as if Jaehyung himself didn't know whether he could or could not be trusted, whether he was or wasn't deserving of kindness. 

He earns another small snort from Jaehyung, who only clutches the bag tighter to his chest. “No way. This is like, the most I’ve ever had to my name. No way I’m eating my only material possessions.”

Wonpil laughs, bright. “Don’t be like that. I’ll just bring you more next time.” 

And Jaehyung’s eyes light up at that, though whether they’re lighting up at the prospect of a next time or the prospect of getting more gifts, Wonpil doesn’t know.

As he climbs back through the dorm window that night, glad to find that Sungjin has not yet woken, Wonpil decides that it doesn’t really matter. 

-

Wonpil takes to visiting Jaehyung at night since it’s much easier to escape the prying eyes that follow him under the cover of darkness. 

Of course, when he can, he dances off to the lonely peak for brief moments during the daylight too, relishing in the eternal spring that undercuts the melancholic beauty of the clearing and enjoying the way the sunlight illuminates Jaehyung’s face when he talks with big gestures about the books that Wonpil brings him. 

But at night it's nice too, for he can stay longer, talking to Jaehyung about everything from his opinion on pizza toppings to his views on current angel court politics (which Wonpil spends a great deal of time explaining in detail when it becomes evident that a haze of confusion crosses Jaehyung’s face every time he starts describing them). Sometimes, Wonpil brings the old board games from the dorm closet, and sometimes he brings more lights, decorating the space around Jaehyung’s tree in a way that the other always complains about, moaning that Wonpil has turned his paradise into a landfill. (But secretly, he likes the decorations. Wonpil has definitely seen him gazing around fondly at the collection of odds and ends that has assembled itself around his form.)

In that manner, they grow closer, an unstable sort of friendship that still tiptoes delicately around the subject of what exactly had gotten Jaehyung kicked out of heaven in the first place. Jaehyung doesn’t mention it, though sometimes his eyes get a bit glassy and faraway, and Wonpil doesn’t ask, though the curiosity eats at him slowly to the point where he thinks about it even as he fights demons with Sungjin or sleepily chews his cereal in the mornings.

There's something mysterious about Jaehyung. He’s nothing but kind, seeming innocent enough when his eyes light up at whatever new form of entertainment Wonpil had brought him, but there are also times where a frustrated look will cross his face and he’ll ask Wonpil a question about something so simple that all angels, past or present, should know it. 

With no other information to go off, Wonpil can only guess that he might have gaps in his memory. 

On the night before the angel inspector comes, Wonpil goes through great pains to erase any evidence that he had ever been there, carrying an absurdly large bundle of items in his arms and getting laughed at for his efforts (which was very mean, thank you). He promises to bring it back, albeit reluctantly until Jaehyung pretends to apologize for making fun of his struggle.

If Jaehyung seems a little more gaunt the next evening when he returns with a starry blanket and picnic basket to make up for whatever the inspector could have said to him, Wonpil doesn’t comment. It can’t be fun, he reasons, getting treated like a monster, and Wonpil can see in the lonely curve of Jaehyung’s spine that the inspector’s treatment had reset some of the progress they had made. 

So he comes more frequently during the next week, trying to stop by enough to reassure Jaehyung that no matter what he had done in the past, he can change, that Wonpil isn’t scared of him, isn’t mad at him, will keep visiting. And it works, he thinks, noticing the soft glow return to Jaehyung’s eyes, the fondness creep back into his little gestures, and the music make its way back into his lilting voice.

Then Sungjin catches him sneaking out.

It had honestly been a long time coming. Wonpil had gotten away with a lot, and Sungjin was bound to notice his perpetual tiredness eventually. Still, the other’s hand grabbing his ankle as he prepares to leap from the window isn’t the way Wonpil wants to be confronted, his tiny form toppling back onto Sungjin as he squeaks in fright. 

Sungjin grumbles, righting both of them without letting go of Wonpil’s ankle, which he keeps beside his own crossed legs as if Wonpil will float away the second he loses his grip. He’s angry, Wonpil can tell that much, and to make things worse he’s not meeting Wonpil’s gaze, glaring at the carpet beside them. 

“So this is why you’ve been so tired recently.”

There’s no room for debate in his tone, and Wonpil can only nod, swallowing as he tries to think of a way to defuse Sungjin’s anger. “I’m not going to ask.” Sungjin says coldly. “I’m not going to ask who or what it is that you want to see so desperately. I don’t think I want to hear the answer.”

Wonpil stares at him with wide eyes, no excuses coming to mind. “But if you think you can continue to get away with this, you’re very, very wrong.”

Bowing his head, Wonpil gives him a tiny nod, trying not to panic at what Jaehyung is going to think if Wonpil doesn’t come by for an extended period of time. The lack of protest seems to make Sungjin even angrier, and he gets up abruptly, a loud huff of air coming out of his lips as he turns from Wonpil.

“Go to sleep,” he snarls.

Wonpil doesn’t dare defy him.

-

For more than a week, Wonpil has no opportunity to escape from Sungjin’s oppressive stare.

The relationship between them heals after the initial outburst, mostly stemming from Sungjin’s inability to stay angry in Wonpil’s presence. But even as they spend every waking moment together, Wonpil’s thoughts can’t help but linger on Jaehyung, on poor Jaehyung, alone on the mountain, probably humming lullabies to himself and running his fingers over the surface of Wonpil’s second bracelet, a gift he had reluctantly accepted after what had felt like hours of persuasion. 

There’s no one else to believe in Jaehyung other than Wonpil.

Through the bracelet, Wonpil does his best to send his emotions through to Jaehyung, whether he’s having a decent day or a horrible one, knowing that the other will at least be able to understand that Wonpil hasn’t abandoned him despite his inability to respond to Wonpil’s attempts at communication (being a fallen angel, his bracelets have long since been destroyed). Unfortunately, there’s no way to really send messages, just feelings, and so Wonpil does his best to at least keep Jaehyung updated. 

He has no way of knowing that those surges of warmth against Jaehyung’s skin are the most precious seconds of the man’s days.

Unfortunately, as much as Wonpil wants to sit around and think about Jaehyung, about his missing memories and warm gazes, about his gentle way of hugging Wonpil like the other might break in half if he gripped him too tightly, things are getting busy at the angel headquarters. He doesn’t have time to sit around when the archangel and his associates have mysteriously disappeared, leaving everyone else to desperately deal with the increase in cracks in the mortal realm on their own. It's terribly inconvenient really, that the archangel decided to up and disappear right at the start of the apocalypse. Wonpil thinks that when he tells the story to Jaehyung, the other will probably laugh in disbelief. 

Every day, more undead are pouring from the earth and their resources are being stretched to the max trying to protect the mortals. Erasing their memories of the incidents is starting to prove more of a waste of time than anything, the attacks growing so frequent that worldwide panic may actually do more good than harm. 

Sungjin, as usual, tries to step up and be a leader, meaning that Wonpil too has to take on more responsibilities, namely the task of searching for any useful information about their situation. It's not that he minds that, really, for Wonpil has always loved the mortals dearly, but there's still a part of his heart that yearns for a few moments of his own time, a few moments in that secluded clearing atop the peak. For several nights, he goes without sleep, sorting through pile after pile of useless notes and diaries that he had pilfered from the closed and shuttered angel research labs. His eyes ache, his back aches, everything aches, and he's left no better off than when he had started. He doesn’t even have time to rest, let alone to think about Jaehyung and the mystery of his memory gaps. 

That is, until he finds an old, leatherbound diary buried near the bottom of the pile.  _ Younghyun’s Diary _ , it reads, neat cursive carefully carved into the texture.

At first, it appears just as unremarkable as the ones that came before it. Wonpil flips aimlessly through the pages, skipping through stories of a new crop fertilizer and some woman having an affair with a fellow scientist. And then, he gets to the final page and sees the name, the name which catches his attention so immediately it may as well have taken up the entire page. It's dated to a few months ago, the handwriting getting more erratic and messy as the entry progresses.    
  
  


_ January 3rd _

_ I don’t have much time left. They took Jaehyung yesterday, in the middle of the night. I saw him, the archangel, I saw him dragging Jaehyung away, and I didn’t do anything. What could I do? What can I possibly do? It’s not like I can tell anyone that we created the instruments of the apocalypse, that the archangel is going to use our research to destroy the human race. Who would believe me? _

_ I don’t know what to do. They’ll take me by tomorrow, I’m sure of it. If anyone gets their hands on this diary, you have to believe me. I’m not insane, although if you're reading this after his plan is starting to unfold, you might just understand what I mean. Those creatures, they were like our children. We raised them, taught them to eat and play and fight, everything. We cultivated their abilities until they were far more powerful than they ever should have been, but again, they were like children to us. We never imagined that the archangel would plan something like this.  _

_ If you’re reading this, you need to come and find me. I know the archangel will not kill me, not for now at least. Jaehyung too, is probably still alive, and the rest of the researchers as well. We should be hidden in the mortal realm, though I doubt I will have my memories when you find me if I am otherwise unharmed. Bring a music box with you when you come, any of the ones that are everywhere in that cursed angel academy. Playing it should reverse the memory erasure, at least for long enough that I will be able to tell you everything.  _

_ Goodnight, for the last time. _

_ \- Kang Younghyun.  _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure about this one... yeah uh 3:0)   
thank you for your kind comments and support i love u all

Wonpil stands at the edges of the earth, a tiny music box clutched in his left hand as he stares through the willows that surround the barely-visible barrier that masks the clearing from humans.

It had taken a great deal of searching to find any sort of clues as to which fallen angel Younghyun might be, but eventually, Wonpil had found his name written absently in the margins of the paper denoting their locations. At the sight, he had almost leapt in excitement before sullenly settling back down to think of what to tell Sungjin in order to get permission to leave. 

The only option was to sneak out. He can’t risk causing a panic when he's yet to verify anything.

And so here he is, on the brink of the clearing, so different than Jaehyung’s, the marshy ground giving way to dancing boughs of grasses that Wonpil didn’t know could thrive while submerged in so much water. Worrying his bottom lip ever so slightly, Wonpil allows himself to flap his wings, hovering imperceptibly above the ground as to not soak his shoes as he drifts into the fallen angel’s prison.

As soon as he breaches the barrier, he spots him, perched upon a tree branch on the enormous willow in the center, his bindings keeping him elevated above the pervasive wetness. Younghyun, too, notices Wonpil, one of his eyebrows cocking up as he examines him. For a moment, it's peaceful.

“Hello, Younghyun,” Wonpil calls softly, drifting closer and allowing one of his pale hands to rest gently against the trunk of the willow. The man frowns, shifting. "Do you know what this is?"

He lifts the music box. The man shakes his head, eyes devoid of any reaction. He probably thinks that Wonpil is just another guard, here to bother him. Careful as ever, Wonpil raises his hand, starting to twirl the tiny metal crank and allowing the melody to flow through the palpably thick air. 

Younghyun flinches as the noise hits his ears, letting out something close to a growl. 

“You’re-,” he begins, and then he trails off, unable to continue speaking as he groans, his head coming forward to rest trembling against his knees in some vain attempt to block the sound. Wonpil grimaces at the sight but he can't stop now. The music box clearly has some sort of effect on the fallen angel. 

Younghyun twists his body sharply, the chains rattling as he thrashes for a few brief moments before falling still, the clicking of the crank and soft whistling of the notes the only noises left ringing. He isn’t moving, and Wonpil can’t see his face from here.

He falters. 

"Don't stop," Younghyun mutters, voice raspy. "Don't stop. I'm alright. It's coming back"

Wonpil obeys, eyes wide with curiosity. "W-What do you mean?"

"My memories are coming back. It's that tune you're playing," he says. Wonpil lets out a soft _ah_, still watching the man closely. 

“What day is it today?” Younghyun asks then, his head whipping back around to Wonpil with an unidentifiable emotion behind his heavy eyes. Wonpil stands up straight, unsure if he should be hopeful or disappointed that the story in the diary could have really been true. “The 28th of August.”

“So it has been eight months, more or less,” Younghyun murmurs, peering down at the reflections in the water. “You must have found my diary. I'm sorry." 

Wonpil frowns, his fingers trembling around the music box. He has a lot of questions, most centering around how the true origin of the fallen angels could have been hidden so thoroughly. How had it only been eight months, when most angels had believed that the fallen angels had rested there for years upon years? How had the archangel covered up the disappearance of so many angels? Was it another form of memory control? “Then it was all true? What exactly is going on?”

“It's true. Unfortunately, we don't have a lot of time,” Younghyun replies, visibly upset. “I’m glad, at least, that those cursed music boxes still work. The others, my coworkers, they’ll need to be woken up and released quickly. The archangel is planning to use us as bait. At least, he was before I was trapped here, and knowing that old man, he won't like to make big changes in his plans.”

Seeing Wonpil’s question form on his lips, Younghyun nods. “He’ll open a gate to the underworld at each of our binding sites, where the boundary is weak. As you can probably guess, no one can fend off the undead for very long when they’re emerging in hordes and both our physical and magical strength is reduced to almost nothing. He intends for us to die, and then he will release the hounds we created, who upon witnessing our deaths, will go on a rampage."

Inhaling, he continues. “He’ll be wreaking havoc on the human cities with his associates while this is going on. Your energy and resources will be split between too many opponents to handle. Everyone will be crushed.”

As if on cue, Sungjin’s bracelet starts burning on Wonpil's wrist, an inferno of agitation and distress that sends Wonpil scrambling to reach Younghyun’s tree branch. Something bad is happening. At the moment, he can only hope that Younghyun is an ally. 

“I will trust you for now,” he says quietly. “If you betray me, I warn you that I am a formidable opponent.”

Younghyun nods, his eyes grateful. “I don't doubt it.”

“Then Kang Younghyun, with the powers bestowed on me as an angel of the light, I hereby order the release of the chains that bind thee.”

Precisely at that moment, the earth opens beneath them, the beginnings of a crevasse forming as Younghyun leaps upright, chains discarded, snatching the music box from Wonpil’s hands and watching the crack with frantic eyes. “Look! We’re already out of time! That bastard has the worst timing of anyone."  
  
"I’ll wake the others," Younghyun says. "You go help the angels. We’ll come to your aid as soon as we can.” 

Wonpil watches him, clutching helplessly at the empty air where the music box had rested as he tries to think. If Younghyun had been telling the truth, it's absolutely imperative that they awaken the other fallen angels (and Wonpil wants to see Jaehyung more than anything), but right now Wonpil can tell that Sungjin needs his help. “Okay,” he says finally, barely above a whisper. “May your feathers carry you safely.”

Younghyun nods his head respectfully. “And yours as well.”

Swallowing, Wonpil watches him disappear into the shadows, his grey wings eager to finally move after staying crippled for so long. It’s almost startling how quickly he seems to have adapted to regaining control over his body, but Wonpil cannot help but wish that his wings carry him even faster as he glances once more at the crack beneath them, the water beginning to pour down into the inscrutable depths. 

He’ll have to trust Younghyun. If everything that the other man says is true, the release of the other fallen angels could very well save the angel race. If Younghyun had lied, Wonpil has just doomed them to extinction.

Once more, the bracelet on Wonpil’s wrist throbs, and he decides he better get moving. 

-

The burning sensation leads him to one of the human cities, a maze of buildings that have already begun to crumble as the mortals flee in a confused panic below. Sungjin’s distress only grows stronger as Wonpil approaches, and he finds himself using his maximum speed to reach the older angel faster, even when it sends him nearly careening into the alleyway wall against which the other is barely propped up, his light pistol held with a trembling hand as he tries to stop the bleeding in his stomach. 

“Wonpil!” Sungjin gasps upon seeing him, eyes wide and panicked. “It’s Michael, he’s gone insane. He’s destroying the city, he won’t listen to anything I say. You have to go get help before things get any worse.”

Frowning, Wonpil’s hands instinctively floats to the handles of his signature twin daggers, sensing that the angel in question is likely still nearby. Michael had always been one of the archangel’s favorites, too aggressive for Wonpil to ever really get along with. He might be a tough opponent to face alone, but there is no other option at the moment. There isn’t even time to explain everything to Sungjin, not now. 

“Wonpil, get out of here,” Sungjin hisses, glaring at Wonpil with all of his might.

It’s useless, and when Wonpil gives him a tiny smile, he can tell that Sungjin too realizes this. “If you have the energy to nag at me, get yourself somewhere where you can recover and try to help the humans. I’ll deal with Michael.”

Sungjin lets out a choice string of curse words, the likes of which Wonpil has never heard come out of his mouth, and he releases a breathy laugh at the reaction, dancing away and drawing his daggers before Sungjin can waste any more of his breath. 

He needs to approach this battle with confidence, but not arrogance. Even from here, around one or two blocks away, Wonpil can sense the other angel’s aura, contaminated with something other than the light as the echoing sounds of his rampage continue. He’s strong, Wonpil cannot underestimate him, but at the same time, Wonpil has never believed in facing a challenge without wholeheartedly convincing himself that he will end up the victor.

With speed unmatched by anyone, he can at least manage to irritate the angel for long enough to buy the mortals time to flee. 

Inhaling the scent of charcoal in the air, Wonpil takes off, skating along the pavement and rounding the corners to face the angel, his daggers coming up to protect his head as he dodges under the blow sent in his direction. 

“Another pest,” Michael growls, and though his helmet obscures the majority of his face, Wonpil can tell that his eyes are struggling to follow his movements as he spins in circles around the angel, whose larger stature serves as another disadvantage against Wonpil’s speed. 

Gritting his teeth, Wonpil leaps above the spear of light thrown in his direction, using the momentum to hurl a reflection of one of his own daggers at the man, a faint, blindingly white echo of the weapon that will do nothing more than irritate him. 

The other angel easily swats it out of the air, as expected, and so Wonpil leaps backward, avoiding a thrust with the spear and summoning several more echos of his daggers to fly at the angel as he darts in to leave the tiniest of cuts along the man’s leg, rolling into the shadows the second he has made the mark. 

“Now you’ve done it,” the other snarls, turning to face Wonpil, who watches him carefully. The wound is almost imperceptible, but it’s enough to enrage him. Wonpil knows, dancing back in a flurry of rolls and quick spins that must look ridiculous to any onlooker but still do the trick as the barrage of summoned spears come his way. 

Wonpil just smiles as soon as he has steadied himself, sending a quick glance to his left to make sure his plan is still possible. Sure enough, the building teeters at the halfway point, a byproduct of Michael’s destruction. 

“Just try to catch me,” he murmurs, skating backward on delicate legs until he’s almost directly in front of the building, waiting for the other angel to draw closer in a flurry of strikes and swipes that Wonpil can only pretend to pay attention to. As subtly as he can, Wonpil sends a burst of his light energy through the ground behind him into the foundation of the skyscraper, trying still to engage the other angel in a half-hearted display of evasion. 

The building trembles. 

Michael looks up, and then he laughs. “Was that your plan? To distract me with the falling debris and then strike? How boring.”

Wonpil resists the urge to show his disappointment, darting backward as the other man sends a blast of his own flying toward Wonpil, creating a crater of sorts in the asphalt road. “If we’re going to start using outside resources, how about I bring in some of my own?”

And with that, the crater becomes a crack, threatening to swallow Wonpil whole as it buckles into the earth. He scrambles backward. He hadn't expected the archangel's minions to be able to open gates to the underworld. This is bad. A crater of that size will allow far too many undead through, and it'll be difficult for Wonpil to cast a seal upon it while fighting Michael.   
  
Wonpil feels his heart thump in his chest._ Think. Think. Think._

And then, a shadow comes over Wonpil's field of view and Michael stops moving. For a moment, it's like everything is frozen, and then a familiar voice rings out.   
  
"Hope I'm not late."

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3


End file.
